PMorph: Evolution
by LostCraft
Summary: The sequel to "Origin" has Andrew Sullivan and his friends deal with the unfortunate consequences of the "Mix formula" being in the wrong hands...


**Pmorph Evolution**

Disclaimer:

I do not own Pokémon, and I do not make any money from this work of fiction. All Pokémon names, references, the original "Silph Co" and "Pokémon technology" mentioned are essentially copyright © 1995 – 2010 Nintendo, Game Freak and Creature Labs.

I do, however, own the rights to this work of fiction, all original characters, and all deviations from the established canon.

Self-rated M due to minor and major graphical violence and sublime undertones that be freaky. This might sound more drastic than it really is though, it's basically comic book violence.

Enjoy the story!

- Björn "Ghost" Ludwig

**A Bouquet Loaded**

High up in a loft that overlooked the river Thames, candlelight illuminated a wonderful surprise in the living room.

It was clear that the loft's owner had an expensive taste, and the room itself was already beautiful to begin with. There was a lot of marble and polished wood, tinted orange by the warm candlelight. And this was the surprise: A long table in the centre of the room had been laden with trays and dishes, a cooler and a huge bouquet of roses. Next to the huge assortment of flowers a newspaper had been placed- quite carefully positioned so that a certain column caught the eye. The smell of the roses hung in the air, a promise of things to come. The stereo played slow, sexy jazz, just at the threshold of hearing.

Michelle Castellan, who was used to at least one weekly "welcome home"-surprise by her lover, tilted her head and took it all in. She couldn't help but smiling contently- it was perfect, really. From the bathroom, there was the telltale rustle of bubble bath and salts waiting in the tub. She knew that there would be rose petals drifting in the water, and even more candles. Roses and candles somehow were Jerome's signature gift. And this should be said, he really loved her… herself, not her fame or her money. He loved her despite the fact that her star was already fading a little. She knew she should be very glad to have someone like him- strong, gentle, reliable and, most importantly, ready to make her the centre of his live. But as she stood there in her beautiful loft, with beautiful candles and beautiful roses and beautiful music promising a really beautiful night, all she could feel was an ugly, selfish sadness.

This was her birthday surprise.

She was a ballet dancer, and a very good one. She was among London's best. No, wait, forget modesty- she was elite. It was a position she held for a good five years now, which was a lot of time in her business. She had worked and fought hard for it, but the top had always been the only option for someone like her. First, she was beautiful, really beautiful- she had great looks, her body feminine and athletic at the same time, each muscle carefully sculpted, her face a delicate work of art, crowned by wavy blonde hair. And she had the right mixture of carefully honed elegance, iron will and, yes, the ability to spin intrigues and mob newcomers out of their first small positions if they threatened to become too good too fast. She was at the top right now, and wished to stay there forever.

But as all the beauty around her reminded her, today she was twenty-six, and that was an age that held a slightly bad taste for anyone in her business. From now on she'd watch her reflection in the mirror more and more carefully, waiting for the first signs of imperfection, the first wrinkles, the first stiffness of muscle, the first marks on her alabaster skin. From now on, every month would be a gift, and a great performance could no longer be taken for granted. From now on she was on borrowed time.

She frowned, feeling slightly guilty. Her mind was constantly on the job- on performances, schedules, appointments, meetings and the occasional plan to put arsenic powder into an upstart's mineral water. She loved to dance, and she made good money from it too. She also knew that, should she really be forced to take a step back in a year or two, there would be enough money for her to keep her standards. Maybe she'd open a small school and pass down some of her knowledge and skill. She knew that (as long as she didn't decide otherwise) there would be a man at her side- Jerome had earnestly explained that he wished to marry her as soon as she was ready. She knew that even after her active time there would be dance and music to fill her life. She'd always do what she liked.

And she had just been given a beautiful surprise. Shouldn't she be overwhelmed and happy?

But she felt unable to enjoy it now. Michelle knew how it would go- Jerome would be at the door in about an hour, just before Big Ben struck midnight, and she should really get into the bath now, forgetting about her working day and slipping into her evening mood. She should refresh herself and get ready to enjoy a fine dinner and a wonderful night.

She couldn't. She felt like crying. Was it selfish? Maybe, but a Michelle Castellan could cry all she wanted when she though it was the time to cry and blame the universe that it had invented something as cruel as _time_. She would be out of her job at an age that saw some people still struggle for their first pay rise! Was that fair? Was that nice?

No, it wasn't. She sniffed, and then noticed a strange scent in the air. Not an unpleasant scent, but… odd. She turned to the large bouquet of roses, and exactly then Michelle's world started to spin out of focus.

Because there was one rose in that bouquet that was not exactly a rose, and it had just stepped out of the flat vase.

Michelle gawped. The crude word didn't do her delicate face any justice, but her eyes snapped wide open, and her mouth formed a perfect o, so it was really the only word that seemed to fit. Her jaw dropped as the rose turned its head this way and that, and climbed from the table.

It wasn't _really_ a rose. It looked like some small creature that was mostly a flower- a round, green face, crowned by large thorns, a body that seemed to be clad in leaves and petals, tiny, spiny legs, and each arm bearing a brightly coloured rose. One was red, the other one blue. It's amazing how the mind tends to take in all these small details when the body has just been flooded with adrenalin. It was… beautiful, really, but Michelle hardly noticed because she was scared to the bone by its sudden appearance. It was the size of a child's doll, tiny… and then it hopped from the table, and with surprising speed and energy ran towards the young woman and _jumped_…

Michelle did a step back, but the thing, airborne, opened its mouth and thrust its arms back, blowing out a stream of glittery dust. The sparkling cloud drifted towards Michelle, and the woman just stopped moving. Her nostrils and her throat were burning, but she couldn't cough or sneeze to get the dust out of her system.

As a dancer, she had developed a very good feeling for her body. She was always aware of how she moved, how much control she had over her muscles. And now she could feel how all of her body went stiff. It started at the neck, and then a cruel numbness crept down her spine, reached her shoulders and arms just as she tried to raise them. She realised that she would _fall_, and maybe hit the ground very hard. She tried to relax her knees, hoping to cushion her fall, and in a way it worked. She dropped to the ground, shoulder hitting the carpet, and fell on the side.

Now she was down, unharmed, but she couldn't move a single muscle. Her eyes were already hurting from not being able to blink. There was still more of the glitter around her, the rose-thing was huffing more of its dust into her face until Michelle was completely rigid.

From the woman's current position the thing no longer looked cute. It was freaky, and she wanted to scream. All she managed was a scared grunt. The thing tilted its head with mocking interest. Its eyes were tiny black pebbles with long, dark eyelashes. It was… girlish. It had to be female. There was something in its looks that made this perfectly clear. Michelle hated it.

Then the door clicked. Michelle had her back to it but hoped like hell that it was Jerome, who would stomp on the flower-thing and find her a doctor and would make it all good. She tried to cry a warning, but again managed only a hiss. The flower that had attacked her looked up, and Michelle noticed eagerness in its eyes, as if it was waiting for something.

Someone grabbed her shoulders and pulled her around until she was on her back. She felt her body arch a little, but she still was unable to move on her own. She looked up at a man. Not too young, tall, thin, bald, a vulture of a man, dressed in a grey suit. He watched her with something like genuine concern.

"Can you move, Miss Castellan? Can you talk?", he asked. He had a harsh, deep voice that was oddly monotone. She just stared back at him, unable to speak or even to shake her head. The flower-girl beneath her chirped. It sounded proud. The man smiled, or at least moved the corners of his mouth upwards and showed all his teeth. Michelle's mind threw up another comparison: Vulture and _shark_. Not a good combination. But all she could do was lie there, rigid, and feel her heart beat very fast. Her body had been taken away from her by the flower-thing. She feared that the man would take some more. She was very, very afraid now. She was in trouble.

"Amazing, really! Well done!", the man said, and she realised he was talking to the flower creature. He bend down and extended a hand, and the thing climbed on it and purred happily. Then he addressed Michelle again.

"I usually do not enter houses by illegal means, Miss Castellan, but I would like to do a very interesting test tonight, and I require your assistance. This is the first step." He held the little monster close to her face, and the thing actually winked at her, "Do not be afraid of it. Feel honoured to see a Roselia. They are rare. This one might well be the last of its kind. Living, sentient plants. Amazing, really. Oh, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Thomas Bradley. Please remember my name, yes? You will be asked later who I am. By then, a lot of things will have happened, so you will be confused. Thomas Bradley, understood? And this is a Roselia. A Ro-se-li-a is a po-ke-mon. Can you remember that?"

She managed to summon some anger and glare at him. He nodded.

"Ah. Obviously you're fully awake and eager to hear some more. I must say I usually enjoy a good monologue. I can concentrate much better when I explain something to others. But, you know, this will all make a little more sense if we act it out. You should be good at acting. It's part of your job, right?" He sighed. "Where to start… Ah, yes."

He pulled her up and placed the Roselia on her shoulder.

There was a giggle from the flower-girl, and Michelle felt a sharp prick as it thrust its head into her neck, the thorns easily piercing the skin. Her vision almost instantly blurred, and she felt her stomach lurch.

"You have been poisoned, Miss Castellan. Roselia poison is very strong, but you have also been stunned. You will not be able to move or panic, so you won't speed up the poison flow involuntarily." The man's voice never managed to transport any emotion, and the woman listened with sheer desperation. "Once the effect wears off, however, and once the poison peaks, you will certainly die. I am now going to make this not happen. I won't explain any more. Time is precious. Please remember, my name is Thomas Bradley, and you have been attacked by a Ros…"

The man stopped, and then shook his head in genuine disappointment.

"Already fainted", he murmured, "I am really talking too much."


End file.
